


Unexpected

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, ambiguous/implied pairing, mate fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek pops up his toast and hurriedly scrambles his eggs. “So. It's a partner situation?”</p><p>Stiles swallows nervously. “Uh, little more than that. Just a bit.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

Stiles looks around the room. “You guys aren't even gonna let me get drunk one last time?” He jokes, shrugging at his friends gathered around him in the Hale house living room.

Derek grumbles from where he stands, and strides forward. “Too risky, mixing the bite and alcohol could have... consequences.”

Peter snickers; he stands outside the circle of the pack, grinning in a lecherous way that speaks volumes to his true character. Despite that, Stiles cracks a grin and laughs under his breath.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles concedes, “no drinking.” It's not as though he brought beer, anyways. “Let's just get this over with.” He shrugs off his shirt without an ounce of shame. Sure, his arm maybe quivers as he tosses the sweaty, partied out shirt in Jackson's face, and maybe as he shoves his hands in his pockets, they quake. But it's not because he's ashamed of his body. It's because he's about to give up his humanity.

Derek barks, honest to god just barks at the rest of the pack, and they all scamper away—even Lydia, Danny, and Alison, the remaining token humans—leaving Derek and Stiles alone.

“Uh, dude.”

“You don't have to do this, Stiles. If you aren't ready, if you're not comfortable with this, you don't have to.”

Stiles shrugs, hands still shoved in his pockets. “It's important to the pack.”

“But it isn't essentially,” Derek says as he grips Stiles' shoulders. “You can stay human for as long as you like. You'll always be pack.”

Stiles grins down at the floor, down at their shoes. “Thanks, buddy,” he nudges Derek's arm. “But I want this. I've always wanted this, I just. It's a little scary.”

Derek combs his fingers through Stiles' grown out hair, his fingertips greedy in their search for comfort. “You're sure.” He says; it's not a question, and Stiles knows his own heartbeat is steady.

“Yeah.” He tells Derek anyways. “Yeah.” He holds out his wrist.

Derek looks at it blankly.

Stiles retracts his arm. “Uh. It was what Peter had done. Back. You know.”

Derek's nostrils flair briefly before he schools himself into a tempered look. “Just hold still.” Derek drops to his knees with a harsh crash, and holds Stiles by the hips. “It's going to hurt. You're going to hate me.”

“So, nothing new.” Stiles grins down at Derek. “C'mon, already.”

Derek's nails grow and prick at Stiles' skin; his ears and teeth elongate and fur sprouts from the sides of his face down the sharp lines of his jaw. His mouth opens hideously wide and seals over Stiles' side, and his teeth sink into malleable flesh.

)

Stiles comes to with a wince and a yelp; his senses are immediately assaulted—everything is brighter, clearer, all the smells and sounds sharper and far too defined for his brain that's still stuck in Human Setting. He hears a voice but it's barely a buzz over the roaring in his ears, the sound of a cricket two miles north, the sound of a faucet running; his eyes zero in on the fabric of the quilt and suddenly he's mesmerized as he traces each thread and stitch until he's staring intently at a gruff and manly hand—Derek's.

“Stiles?”

He flinches, because hello _loud_ , but he meets Derek's concerned gaze. “Hey.” He whispers.

“It's overwhelming, I know.” Derek shifts and the sound of his clothes against the bedsheets sound like nails on a chalkboard. He scoots closer, though, and the closer he gets the heavier the comfort of his presence. Stiles relaxes minute by passing minute, muscle by muscle, until Derek has a hand on the back of his neck. “Breath with me.”

Stiles nods, falling into Derek's side. “It's better now.”

Derek smiles briefly, the stretch of muscles pressing against Stiles. “Good. Think you're up for some training?”

Stiles sits up, blinking rapidly as the sun hits his eyes harsh, but nods. The sounds aren't as vivid nor are the colors; while still extraordinarily defined, it's less of an assault and more of a gentle massage of sensations. He stands and stretches and motions to Derek. “Let's do this.”

Derek grins, all teeth.

)

Twenty minutes later finds the betas with healing ribs, bloody faces, and shit eating grins. While Lydia, Danny, and Alison are still excluded from the fights, Stiles being in them makes them only that much sweeter. Especially for him when he throws Jackson fifty feet in one direction and kicks Boyd in the chest sending him crashing into a tree. He breaks Scott's nose three times before bro-hugging it out. He pins Erica to the forest floor, a hand tangled in her hair and claws digging into her scalp.

Isaac doesn't bother fighting back, aside from digging a bite into Stiles' shoulder before tugging him down for a light hearted wrestling match. It all ends in laughter and toothy grins.

Once the betas are lying, exhausted, by the humans, Stiles and Derek remain.

“Bring it on, D-Man.” Stiles declares as he puffs out his chest and smirks.

Derek snarls in a deceptively fond manner and lunges; Stiles mimics him and before long they're rolling on the ground, growling and biting and clawing at each other. Stiles gets Derek pinned for all of five seconds before being thrown against the side of the house and landing in a patch of dead flowers.

He braces himself against the wall and uses it as leverage when Derek comes at him; Stiles swings around Derek's body and swings Derek forward, sending him face-first into the mud

Stiles laughs and laughs, gratified to see Derek laughing as well, before realizing that there's still blood dripping from his head. When he looks he can see through the tears in Derek's clothes that the cuts aren't healing, that he's sluggishly leaking blood. None of the wounds are life threatening, and if he concentrates Stiles can feel his skin stitching itself back together.

“Uh, Derek?”

In the blink of an eye, Derek stands before Stiles with greedy hands trailing over his body, over his wounds. He growls in Stiles' face.

“Dude, this is so not my fault.”

“I know.” Derek grits out, fingers tracing over a particularly bloody cut.

“It's not yours, either.” Stiles adds, leaning back. “But it is weird.” He concludes, turning to the rest of the pack. “This isn't normal.”

Jackson snickers and stands first. He strides over to them only to peer accusingly at Stiles, smirking all the while. “Maybe you're gonna turn into a werefrog or something.”

Stiles sneers right back. “Whatever, Godzilla, better than you.”

They growl at each other for a solid minute before Derek pushes them apart. Scott stands awkwardly, looking concerned and puppyish, with Isaac mirroring his expression not far behind. Alison steps up. “Uh, maybe it's...” She chews on her lip. “Well..”

Peter laughs from where he stands in the shade of the porch, a glass of sweet tea in hand. He laughs, and laughs, snickering and snorting while everyone looks on none the wiser to what the fuck exactly is so funny.

“Care to explain?” Derek barks out, glaring all alpha like at his uncle.

“Oh, no, it's much more fun this way.”

All eyes narrow into glares and turn on Peter.

Stiles licks his lips, tastes blood and shakes his head. “I'm fine now, I think.”

Derek is still tense, though. “It shouldn't have happened in the first place.” He stalks towards the house. “We're done for the day.”

“I'll go talk to Deaton!” Stiles calls out after him as the front door slams shut. “Okay, who needs a ride home?”

)

“Ah, Stiles, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Stiles cocks an eyebrow. “Be more cliché, why don't you.”

“I live in a world of magic and werewolves. I've got to get my kicks somewhere.”

Stiles grins. “Amen to that.” He rises from where he leans and approaches the vet table. “So, as I'm sure you know, Derek gave me the bite.” Deaton simply nods in response. “But there's just one little complication...”

Deaton doesn't even bother to stare expectantly at Stiles, he remains diligently focused on browsing his 'supernatural help books disguised as veterinarian books' section.

“When I fight the betas, or when they fight each other, or when Derek fights them—everything heals just fine. In seconds, y'know?” Stiles carries on. “But when Derek and I fought each other nothing healed right away. Sure after like fifteen minutes things were normal but all the scratches stayed and we kept bleeding and I think Derek is doing that thing where he blames himself and hides.”

Deaton nods. “He did that when he stepped on his younger sister's doll once, broke the arm off. She didn't mind but he agonized over it for weeks.”

Stiles blinks. “Charming.”

Deaton gives him a small smirk. “Anyways, in regards to your actual dilemma, the answer is quite simple.”

)

“Stiles?”

“What, didn't hear me come in?”

Derek is in sweatpants and a large t shirt, tired and confused as he pads into his kitchen to find an equally dressed Stiles sitting at the table eating cereal. “What's going on? Is something wrong? The bite—?”

“It's fine, it's fine, calm your tits, man.”

An awkward silence pans out before Derek growls.

“Right, yeah, right. So I talked to Deaton,” as Stiles speaks Derek gathers stuff to make eggs and toast, “and it's actually totally normal and simple and whatever.”

Derek pushes the button for the toaster and sets a pan on the stove. “Okay?”

Stiles laughs awkwardly and spoons too much milk into his mouth so that it dribbles down the sides of his chin. Derek rolls his eyes and steps closer with a towel in hand, wiping away the streaks of milk.

“Well?”

“We-e-e-ell...” Stiles grins uncomfortably. “I guess it's an alpha thing, where... when there's a member in the pack who is, ah, close to the alpha, and is a werewolf then.. they can hurt each other, and uh, they won't heal immediately. I guess it's a power saving measure so that no alpha gets to crazy with their power.”

Derek pops up his toast and hurriedly scrambles his eggs. “So. It's a partner situation?”

Stiles swallows nervously. “Uh, little more than that. Just a bit.”

Derek spoons his eggs onto the toast and takes a bite; while he chews he stares intently at Stiles. “Are you saying what I think you're saying.”

Stiles grins meekly. “We're mates!” He exclaims in an especially terrible Australian accent.

The toast clatters to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta leave 'em wanting more, right?


End file.
